A Taste is All it Takes
by Willow Capelle
Summary: Written for the Shernanigans Party. John gets Sherlock to eat pancakes for the first time in his life, sending Sherlock on a sugar binge. Hilarity ensues.


Sherlock cocks an eyebrow as a plate of pancakes is shoved at him across the table.

"Eat," John orders.

"No."

"You've rejected all forms of healthy food. Eat the pancakes. They're sweet."

"Not hungry."

"You haven't eaten in since Chrismas. It's been four days, Sherlock. Eat the goddamn pancakes." John's frustration level is through the roof. His conscience won't leave him be about Sherlock eating.

"No."

"Eat, or I will hold you down, and I will force feed you, Sherlock," the doctor's voice is dangerous. Sherlock's eyebrow climbs higher, almost daring John to try, but he takes the fork and cuts a bite, popping it into his mouth.

"Happy?"

"I'll be happier when you finish them."

The detective rolls his eyes, reluctantly taking another bite, actually tasting the sweet syrup over the breakfast confection. He could see why Mycroft couldn't lay off the sweets now. The pancakes are gone in a matter of minutes, and John is actually smiling.

"Was that so hard?" he asks, grin practically stretching to his ears. Sherlock shakes his head, standing and leaving his experiment, licking his sticky fingers and heading to the sink.

"Well, I've got to be off to the surgery," John says, pulling his jacket on. The detective just nods as he runs water over his hands, trying to get the syrup off.

"See you when I get home, Sherlock." The genius gives him a dismissing wave as he leaves.

As soon as John's gone, he's off like a bullet out of a gun, looking for every sweet thing he can find.

(Break)

When John gets home, tired from the surgery, but still glowing from getting Sherlock to eat, he definitely doesn't expect the scene before him.

It flashes through his mind briefly, that there's a possibility they were robbed.

"Sherlock?" he calls.

"!" the detective's voice is higher than usual as he races into the sitting room.

John furrows his brow. "Sherlock, are you high?" he asks.

"Nope. No drugs. Perfectly clean, you can even check!" Sherlock rolls his sleeves up, the only needlemarks revealed are scars from ages back. John gives a slight nod, wondering at Sherlock's talking even faster than when he's making deductions.

"Case then?"

"Nope. No case."

"What's got you like this then, Sherlock?" John asks.

"I dunno. I haven't taken in any drugs or alcohol, though, and there's not been any cases."

It's then that John notices the open tins on the counter, completely empty, and the debris covering the floor is wrappers. Sherlock's consumed every sweet thing in the flat. And that was a lot, considering it was just after Christmas, and Mrs. Hudson had practically showered them with chocolate, peanut brittle, cookies, and a number of different kinds of candies.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, you _are_ high!" he cries.

"No. I told you I haven't taken in any sort of drugs or alcohol," he protests, still talking incredibly fast.

"No. You're sugar high. Jesus, you'll be lucky if you're not diabetic after consuming all of that!" He looks to the genius, who's twitching, and can't stay still, bouncing around the flat. The doctor knows if he's lucky, he's just catching the end of it.

"Do we have any more chocolate? Or Caramel? I could really go for some more caramel."

John watches his friend practically bouncing off the walls.

"No. No more sweets for you. The last thing I need is you staying up all night like this. You're going to crash hard already, as it is."

Sherlock doesn't seem to hear him, just keeps flitting all over the flat, checking and double checking the tins and wrappers, looking for something he hasn't consumed yet. "But Jooooooooooooooooohn," he whines. Actually whines. "I thought you wanted me to eat!"

"And now you've eaten enough. More than enough. Do you have any idea how hard you're going to crash when this is done?"

Sherlock shakes his head rapidly, enough that he has to hold it afterwards because it makes him dizzy and he giggles.

_Giggles_.

There's nothing really that can be done but to wait it out. John hopes briefly that the genius will crash soon. The doctor shakes his head.

"I would never have made you eat if I'd known you'd be such a glutton for sweets…"


End file.
